


Drastic Measures

by Gabriel_Sage



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aunt Petunia - Freeform, Dark Harry, Dark Severus Snape, Dark Voldemort, Dumbledore Bashing, Hermione Bashing, Letters, M/M, Weasley Bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8040475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabriel_Sage/pseuds/Gabriel_Sage
Summary: One day during the summer after fourth year, Harry grew angry out of great frustration, and decided that it was time for drastic measures. If he couldn't get information from his friends, then why not ask an enemy instead? Who knew; perhaps if he worded it right, the man would respond as a way to 'give the bird' to Dumbledore.





	1. Realizations

**Author's Note:**

> This was brought over from one of my wattpad accounts

     Harry sighed, scribbled a few more lines into the parchment, then with a sudden flare of anger snatched it up and ripped it to shreds. For a moment he simply stared at his now ink-splattered hands, before groaning and resting his forehead on the table. What was the point of even writing to his friends, if they weren't going to bother to answer back properly? He could read between the lines of their empty, hollow letters; he knew they were all there together, possibly having fun whilst he was left here to do the heavy lifting. As usual. He lifted his eyes to stare at the scraps now littering the floor, before letting his head thump back to the desk. Nope. Definitely no use. He was bored out of his mind, but didn't dare leave the property. He didn't know how far the protective wards stretched, if they were even there. Merlin knew, he had to see this place as home, and that title purely belonged to Hogwarts. But it had to be doing its job somehow; it was meant to keep him safe, him and his blood...speaking of blood, it ran cold at the sudden realization. Voldemort shared his blood! Why had it taken him this long to realize it? But then he relaxed again. Voldemort may have used his blood in the ritual, but in no way did that mean his blood was still his. It had probably reverted back to his original blood; after all, he barely looked human, much less like Wormtail or himself. The ritual and accompanying potion had probably been created to see to just that. But that train of thought did give him an idea... He doubted he would get answers from the git; he hated him and likely everyone else he and Potters were associated with after all, but it was worth a try. Maybe he would give the answers as a way to thumb his highly obtrusive nose at Dumbledore. Smirking slightly, he pulled a new sheet of parchment towards him and began scribbling anew.


	2. Discovery

     A man lying on a bed yawned and rolled over, threading his fingers through his black hair. The ritual to return his physical appearance that had been messed up since about 24 years ago back to rights had been more exhausting than it should have been; but then again, he had undergone more damage than the ritual was designed to fix, especially where his nose was concerned. But no matter, he and his very knowledgeable partner that had recently come back had altered it to their specifications, and it had worked, and splendidly too. He was a genius at these things, but his decidedly returned friend had filled in the few things he was unsure about. Then he jumped up into a fighting stance, wand at the ready, as he heard a thump on his window. He frowned at it. Who could possibly be writing to him? Almost no one knew he was back in England yet, barring the Order and the Dark; and those who did didn't usually send things via owl, but rather in person due to his well-known paranoia. Or nothing at all due to his well-known foul temper. With a flick of his wand, the old window rattled open, and true to his expectations an owl flew in. It looked vaguely familiar, but he just couldn't place it. The snowy owl hooted once, then held out its leg for him to untie the letter. But rather than touch it, he magically unfurled it and levitated it to him, eliciting an indignant churl from the owl. He couldn't help it; he chuckled.  
      "My, you're a bossy one." He scanned for any curses, and finding none, he flipped it open to glance at the bottom first as always–and upon discovering the identity of the sender, he immediately jumped back to the top of the letter. But after reading the intro, he read no further. The idiot boy had sent it to the wrong person! On the other hand, perhaps the owl had failed, and it was merely bringing it to the person most likely to give it to him without snooping. Certainly he was curious, but he would rather not know what the boy wrote; something about him could be in it, and he had no desire to know more about what the brat thought of him. Thankfully, his Lord had gone through the very same ritual he had, so was sane again. With a tap of his wand, he banished it to Him, and scripted a response to Potter.

* * *

      Erstwhile, another man was waking up similarly, having decided to undergo the same ritual, when he heard a rustling sound which precluded the arrival of a letter from Severus via that spell the man had invented. Yawning, he performed the necessary charms, and frowned as he found it was forwarded to him through the man. He opened it and looked at the original sender, and his eyes narrowed in puzzlement. Why in the nine hells would Potter be writing to him?

  
_Dark Lord, Voldemort, Tom Riddle, dead, whatever people are calling you these days,_  
_I suppose you weren't expecting to get a letter from me. Especially with what just happened last June. I just thought to send you an owl. Do you ever get aggravated when people don't send you letters, and when they finally do, they are completely useless? Yep, that's my life. No information for the one who has a megalomaniac after his head. And it's been happening a lot lately. What has been happening in the wizarding world? I decided to bug you for answers, because Dumbledore and his minions have evidently decided to go forward with the motto 'ignorance is bliss' when dealing with me, and no offense, but it's kind of stupid of them. It's not very blissful at all. Have you killed anyone lately? Was it Snape? I guess I can't keep my fingers crossed, either way; he's too good at landing on his feet. He's probably managed to smarmy right back up to you, hasn't he? You don't have to answer, I can already tell. But do me a favor, and don't blame the letter on the messenger. I rather like Hedwig. Blame it on Wormtail it you have to. I blame him for everything else, up to and including the weather (which is much too hot, by the way); he could take some more. He deserves it._ Crucio _him for me, will you?_  
_Harry Potter_

     Voldemort snorted. What an idiot; but then again, maybe not so much of one either. This could be a golden opportunity for him. Potter was no longer stumbling after Dumbledore blindly, and was beginning to turn to other sources for information upon realizing that something was off about the situation. Perhaps he could make this work. Potter had shown his value, managing to get out of his trap this summer. Such a surprising ending, too. Quite Slytherin of him, to try someone else as an information source. As the saying went, doing the same thing over and over and expecting to get different results was insanity. And speaking of which, he wasn't insane anymore. So with a smirk, he began penning a response.


	3. Unexpected Counsel

     Harry was bored. And in another one of his Cedric-is-dead flunks. He needed something to keep his mind off of everything, and unfortunately, he'd already finished all his homework. And it was only halfway through June! Perhaps he could go and see if Aunt Petunia needed help. Even if she didn't want it, suffering her insults would be better than doing nothing. So he slowly trudged down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where she was stirring a great pot of spaghetti. She whipped around upon hearing him enter, and looked him over with an appraising eye.  
     "What do you want, boy?" She asked in a shrill tone, and Harry dully met her gaze.  
     "I just wanted to see if you needed help. Given how much everyone else eats, I figured an extra hand might be welcome." She stared at him incredulously, before pointing to the deep freezer.  
     "Prepare the garlic bread. And no poisoning it or anything, mind you!" Harry nodded, then headed for the monster of an icebox. Behind him, he heard her mutter "never thought I'd see the day he'd come asking for work." The inside of the freezer was stuffed full of food, enough to feed an average family of four from November to March. However, this thing got cleaned out every two weeks. After a little shifting, he found it under two massive bags of frozen chips and one box of drumsticks and pulled it out. It was a miracle the freezer worked at all, the lack of airflow there was. As he pulled out a baking sheet to lay the frozen items on, Aunt Petunia commented. "Why did you want to help, anyways? I thought you had gotten enough of it in your first eleven years, and you haven't helped much in the last four." Harry hesitated, before deciding on just spilling the truth. It was her fault if it wasn't what she wanted to hear.  
     "To keep my mind off of things." He shuddered. He deftly tore off the proper size of needed aluminum foil and covered the metal baking sheet. Then he slid the garlic bread out of the wrappings with a skill that he somehow hadn't forgotten. He figured that old saying, that some things were never forgotten, was true.  
     "What sort of things?" Her voice had gone surprisingly soft. He finished laying out the garlic bread and set the preheat on the oven, before turning back to him.  
     "This year, at school, there was an international competition. I was forced to compete with people three years older than me. I nearly died at least twice, as I was wholly unprepared to do any such things. And then..." he shuddered. "The man that killed my parents, Voldemort, he messed with the teleporting device. Instead of appearing outside the maze, I appeared in a graveyard, with a friend. Cedric Diggory. One of Voldemort's servants killed him, right in front of me. Anyway, he's back now. He nearly killed me again too; I only escaped by pure dumb luck. That is why I keep trying to watch the news, I'm looking for information on what he's doing." Petunia had turned a horrible shade of pasty white.  
     "You watched a friend of yours die? He was killed? You nearly were too?" Harry nodded, and she seemed to swallow hard, before regaining her composure. "Well then, I suppose you can deal with the mashed potatoes, I will make the sauce." Although, her tone of voice was much softer. And to his surprise, he didn't feel as bad about it either, anymore. Perhaps he was finally beginning to move on. Or perhaps just talking about it to a surprisingly unbiased third party was what he'd needed. Indeed, that night, he didn't wake once because of Cedric.


	4. Surprises

     The next morning, Harry woke up surprisingly well-rested, and happy. And then he saw what was resting on his desk, and his grin reached an all-new level of happiness.  
     "Hedwig, you're back! And you have a letter?" He was quite surprised by this, and he jumped out of bed, hoping against hope that his prayers were answered. But his eyes widened in shock and disappointment as he uncovered the true sender.

     _Potter, be thankful that it was me and not someone else your letter fell into the hands of. Needless to say, I did not bother to open it, for it is likely to be filled with tripe the likes of which I have no desire to soil my mind with. I shall not tell the Headmaster of your ongoing correspondence with Him, and have forwarded your letter onwards to the intended recipient. However, due to not desiring to be your owl in the future, I have cast a spell on yours to always find the recipient from now on, whatever the wards._  
_Prof. S. Snape_

     Well, damn. Turned out he wouldn't get a letter after all. Although, he could always try pestering Snape instead since this gig hadn't worked. Due to being on both sides, he was bound to have a lot of the information as well, and he didn't seem half as bad with a parchment and a few thousand kilometers between them. But then there was a tapping on his window and he found a very regal, black snowy owl perched on his sill. He opened the window, and surprisingly Hedwig was perfectly fine sharing a perch. In fact, he'd almost say she was cozying up to him. Given whose it could be, he might have to nip that relationship in the bud. And was this a letter from Voldemort, or was it from someone else? He checked it, and to his delight, he saw that it was indeed from Voldemort. Or at least, he was pretty sure. Who else would place a seal of the Dark Mark seal on the front? He cracked the seal and eagerly opened it.

 _Harry Potter, The boy-who-lived, idiotic brat, whatever they are calling you these days,_ and Harry could go no further before descending into helpless laughter. It took a full twenty-three and a half seconds to regain his composure before he could resume his reading.

 _Harry Potter, The boy-who-lived, idiotic brat, whatever they are calling you these days,_ Harry snorted, but continued, _I am indeed surprised by this missive. Though I must commend you on not being a blind follower of Dumbledore like three-quarters of the population. I would give you my greatest condolences on your loss of innocence in the ways of the Light, but I have none to offer, so it would not b_ _e sincere_ _. Besides, I don't do comforting. As you are unlikely to get information from your headmaster, because he does not like any of his pawns knowing too much, I will endeavor to enlighten you as that will tick him off royally. After all, the enemy of my enemy is my ally, and in_ _regards to_ _information, it is safe to consider Dumbledore to be an enemy of both of us. Currently, I am recruiting from the Giants and magical creatures, and aiming to retrieve the prophecy regarding the two of us from the Ministry's Department of Mysteries. I have no reservations letting you know this, as it is nothing that the Order does not know already and yet they will most assuredly hide the knowledge from you. It is a race between the Order and me for the Giants' allegiance, and I am winning so far. Your friend Hagrid and his half-giant girlfriend are doing nothing but annoying them, and when they are annoyed, their limited translation_ _capabilities_ _are stretched to the point where a friendly 'hello' may as well be 'kill those_ _giant_ _brutes' to them. As for empty letters, I do find them quite aggravating and a useless expenditure of my time. 'My lord, the grounds are clear. The sky is blue. There are no trespassers.' I cursed Crabbe for it more times than I could keep track of, but he still continues to leave such idiotic letters. And as for Severus, if it is any consolation, I cruciated him for far longer than the others. By the way, your advice to blame Wormtail is very much appreciated._  
_Lord Voldemort_

_P.S. Make sure you destroy this letter or hide it somewhere your friends will not come across it. For some reason, I doubt they will be thrilled about our correspondence. (Not that anyone could read it. It does have a spell to keep anyone else but the intended reader and writer to read. Would have used parseltongue had there been more than just two of us.) But they may question you about the seal._

     Harry grinned. This was far better than he had been hoping for. truly, he'd expected a curse in a letter or something else just as nasty. _And_ he knew what was going on, to some degree. But now he had even more questions. He pulled a new sheet of parchment to him.


	5. A Response

     Many kilometers and several hours of flight by owl from where Harry Potter was residing at that point in time, the self-appointed most fearsome wizard of the century was sitting, drinking an early evening tea with Nagini. although if the common observer just happened to look in, they would have found the scene more ridiculous than scary. But hey, it wasn't _his_ fault that the Riddle family before him had rather liked the looks of pink china! And he didn't want to go china shopping, when there was perfectly good stuff here. _But regardless,_ he grumbled in his mind, _could he truly be having tea_ with _Nagini, if she was actually glutting herself on a dead calf?_ Merlin, he needed a distraction from his thoughts. Sanity had some very annoying drawbacks, he'd quickly realized shortly after the ritual, namely in an increase of imagination in a completely immature light. He sighed, and quickly pushed away the thought of Crabbe and Goyle in ballet leotards, and hopped up.

     §Master?§ Nagini hissed, looking up. Voldemort had to stifle a reflexive shudder of revulsion at the blood smeared all over her head, something else recently new. §Are you leaving me?§ Voldemort nodded slowly.

     §I have paperwork to do, letters to read and send.§ He responded, and Nagini gave the snake equivalent of a nod, and returned to coiling up in her food. Unfortunately, the paperwork was not much of an excuse. For good Merlin, who knew that being a Dark Lord would involve so much of it? Certainly, he didn't! He knew he’d have to write down exactly what he wanted, but there was the fact that many creatures wanted a contract, and there was still the costs of things like potions equipment and other materials that made up the unprecedented workload. On the other hand, the letters was merely wishful thinking on his part. But to his delight, when he opened the door to his study, he did indeed find a snowy owl waiting for him. His eyes however, narrowed at the obvious cozying his Neptune was doing with Potter's owl. He slit the scroll open, glad for the reprieve in his dull life for the role of enlightening the critically uninformed. After all, he _had_ wanted to be a professor.

 _Lord_ _Voldemort, do you mind if we use code names on your part? May I refer to you as David Riviera? The letters are a partial anagram of your name, along with several letters broken down physically and those pieces joined to make new letters. After all, why would they look into a childhood acquaintance? And if they did look into it, I will say that you moved away a while back and we are keeping contact via this owl I found in the woods and tamed. What are you referring to by the Order? It turns out that my relatives aren’t utter bastards after all. Or at least, my aunt isn’t. Uncle Vernon and Dudley are more moronic that last year. Moving on, what prophecy is there that has us as the subjects? I suppose if I am correct, then this is the reason why you attacked my family at such a young age._

_Harry Potter_

_P_ _.S. Your middle name is Milt._

     Voldemort rolled his eyes at the letter. Somewhat childish, the idea of using an anagram...but then again, he'd done the same at his age. It was likely where he'd gotten the idea from anyways. And it wasn't the worst thing that could have come up, either. He knew that from some of the ridiculous garbage he’d thrown out when searching for the perfect anagram himself. And of course Potter didn't know about the Order; he wouldn't have asked _him_ to answer his questions had he known people were feet away! So he began composing a new letter, deciding that actively avoiding paperwork was the best way to go about his business despite knowing that ignoring it wouldn't make it go away.


	6. A Seed of Doubt

_Potter,_ _Are you certain you were not meant to be a Slytherin? That is a very shrewd backstory you came up with, and nearly impossible to check, as you don’t know where I moved to and they don't know how to work the interweb. Moving on, the Order, properly the Order of the Phoenix, is a group of wizards who are more or less the Light version of my followers led by Dumbledore; in other words: undercover, illegal, has spies entrenched in the Ministry, and following a leader of the war. The ones known from the last War were the Weasleys, several Aurors, your parents, their friends, and a lot of others who were sheep but still handy with a wand. As for the prophecy? You are quite perceptive. It is indeed why I came after you, but I only know the first two lines._

_ The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...  _

_I don't know the rest, but I desire to. Perhaps you do as well? And your idea of the anagram is ingenious, and of a better design than my own. As it is, it is far too simple to merely wave a wand and prove my former identity. And I quite agree with a lack of middle name._

_David_

_P.S. The Order has a watch on you, in an attempt to keep you safe and ensure you don't break Dumbledore’s rules. So far I have noticed Lupin, Moody, an Auror named Shacklebolt, a woman whose surname is Tonks, the squib cat lady who lives a few houses down from you, and a plethora of others. The question is, if owls are so dangerous to send mail across, then why can't they tell you in person, if not to simply keep you in the dark?_

 

     Harry crushed the latest letter in his fist angrily. This was too much...he felt like screaming. Mrs. Figg was a bloody squib! She'd known who he was and how he was treated all these years. And had never said anything to anyone! Just what was Dumbledore playing at? He highly doubted it to be a coincidence that Mrs. Figg would just happen to move in a few houses from him, lest she was put there deliberately by Dumbledore to keep an eye on him? Well, there was a way to find out.

     "Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked. And she looked up, her lips pursing.

     "What?"

     "When did Mrs. Figg move in?" She looked thoughtful.

     "Actually, just a few days after you moved in. One day the Pattersons were living quite happily there, and the next they were selling the house, claiming all sorts of foolish things. They were acting strangely; they weren't ones to complain. And it seemed like Arabella had bought the house a little too quickly to have been natural." Harry hissed.

     "That damned Dumbledore! He's been manipulating me from the start!" Aunt Petunia nodded.

     "He's a right bastard. Certainly you've heard it before, but he left you here without even asking if we had a way to care for you or if we even wanted you. He left just you and a letter on the doorstep, and in the beginning of November to boot! You were quite ill by the time we found you and it took weeks for you to heal. And the letter was nothing short of blackmail, claiming that half the world would want us gone, the magics for shunning their savior, and the muggles for trumped up charges of neglect and possible abuse," she seethed.

     "So, instead of leaving them to be fake, you made them become real?" Petunia shrugged.

     "Vernon's idea. We figured that we'd rather go to prison for something we'd done than something we hadn't." Harry slowly nodded.

     "Because then you'd have a clean conscience. I've been getting newspapers, and the whole magical part of the world is under the belief that I'm lying about Voldemort being back. It's extremely frustrating and makes me want to punch a wall. But I suppose that if I really had lied, then I wouldn't mind so much."

     "Hmph," Aunt Petunia sniffed. "Doesn’t your world have a clause about libel? I know us normal people have it, and journalists who commit it can go to prison." Harry slowly nodded.

     "I will most definitely look into it. And if it is an option, I will certainly use it, otherwise when I go back to school I will be looked at as if I am a mass murderer about to dive off the deep end." Harry ran up the stairs, and sliding into his seat at his desk, began his next letter.

 

_David,_ _I will take what you said about the backstory and getting one over on you as a compliment. And as for the Slytherin jibe? I was supposed to go there, but I manipulated the hat into putting me in Gryffindor. And I suppose I can blame Ron and Hagrid for that, but I figure the latter has an excuse (Chamber of Secrets and all that). And Ron was probably spoon-fed stories of the evils of Slytherins along with his baby food._

_Aunt Petunia told me that Mrs. Figg moved in just a few days after I did. Purportedly, the previous neighbors had been happy one day and then complaining and selling the house the next, and that was out of character for them as they weren’t complainers. I have a feeling that there is something more involved with the story than just that._

_Moving on, as for your question about wanting to know the rest of the prophecy, I do want to know. Anything that has affected my life that much has to be important. And I have a question of my own to throw at you: does the wizarding world have laws against libel? If it does, how would I use them to charge the Daily Prophet? I believe I have enough money, but I would like the stomping on my name to stop._

_Harry_


	7. Not a Tea Party

     "My Lord."

     "You're back," Voldemort stated. Severus tensely nodded, and he sighed. "Severus my friend, I told you that the torture was nothing personal. I _had_ to ensure you were still loyal."

     "Of course." Voldemort smiled, and when Severus only seemed to become more on guard, he decided to change his approach.

     "Good. I have much to run by you. Would you care for a spot of tea?" Severus visibly relaxed, this evidently being the proof he’d required as to his full sanity. After all, Voldemort the crazy loon Dark Lord did _not_ hold tea parties. But then, nor did Voldemort the sane Dark Lord! This was just tea between comrades, not a tea party! Of course, Nagini would say otherwise if she were here, but she wasn't here, and no one was asking her opinion.

     "That would be welcomed." Voldemort summoned his tea set, and rubbed the bridge of his recently acquired nose when he saw the beginnings of a smirk play at the corners of Severus' mouth.

     "Please don't laugh. This tea set came with the house, and using magic on them only makes whatever goes inside taste worse." Severus, still smirking, took the proffered powder pink teacup.

     "You had something you wished to tell me?" Severus opened the topic, and Voldemort nodded slowly.

     "First, Potter is disenchanted with Dumbledore and has actually resorted to asking me for information being kept from him by the man. I've taken to revealing things to him, and through this, I will court him completely to the Dark. The process has already begun." Severus's eyes widened in shock.

     "Have you told him about my part in...?” Voldemort chuckled.

     "I've told him of the Prophecy and what I know of it, but not of who brought it to me. Don’t worry, he hasn’t asked yet." Severus relaxed slightly.

     "Good. I have no desire for my profession to become more difficult than it already is. You mentioned courting him to the Dark. Does that mean you no longer wish for his death?" Voldemort chuckled.

     "I haven't wished for his death since I regained my sanity twelve hours after the ritual."

     "I’m going to assume you have an alias then, if you're in correspondence."

     "David Riviera. Milt is the middle name, and is in no way an anagram of mine." Severus tilted his head slightly in consideration.

     "Were you the one to address this particular problem?" Voldemort shook the negative.

     "Actually, no. Apparently, Potter is far more Slytherin than anyone has given him credit for. Not even Dumbledore would believe that someone would willingly choose Milt as a middle name. One word of it, and I’d be a laughingstock! You can read those if you wish to catch up." He waved a hand towards the neatly folded pile of letters. Voldemort enjoyed watching Severus’ reactions as he began, from looking as if he wanted to laugh, to surprise, to annoyance, and back to back to surprise as he began the second letter. And then on to awe. Severus finally looked up.

     "I’m astounded he has an original thought in his body."

     "Damn. And there was me thinking you looked awestruck because you weren’t expecting anyone, much less Potter to have made such an accurate jump in conclusions!" Voldemort teased, and Severus’ mouth slanted down in an annoyed frown. "And look, he’s responded!" The majestic snowy not-so-gracefully landed on the teapot, causing it to topple and her to shriek, shooting back into the air. This time, she landed on Voldemort's head, deliberately messing up his meticulously styled hair. And when he had untied the letter, she flew away quickly, leaving him to rub his head where her talons had cut into his scalp. Voldemort flicked his wand once, and the tea beginning to drip onto the carpet all vanished, along with the shards of the pink teapot. And if anyone were to ask him, it was _completely_ by accident that he'd lost the vital part of the tea set he hated so much and now had to toss the rest of it. Nagini would be upset though. Pity.

     "Well, what does it say?" Severus questioned, impatient. Not that it was visible, but it could be divined by the way he spoke this, his words being more clipped than usual.

     "Let’s see... David, I will take what you said about the backstory and getting one over on you as a compliment. And as for the Slytherin jibe? I was supposed... how about I read it, then hand it to you?" Voldemort smirked, leaving Severus in suspense deliberately. When he was done, he passed it off to Severus, who immediately snatched it out of his hands and began scanning through it, his eyes crossing over it feverishly. Erstwhile, Voldemort mulled the new intel over in his head, watching Severus in amusement. The strict man hardly ever showed many emotions unless he was sufficiently distracted, and this bombshell of a letter would certainly do it. But to give him some credit, few people would be able to discern that a look of deep contemplation was on his face, and would stop trying when they saw the hardening of his features, believing it to be the entire scope of his emotional reaction. Finally, he looked up.

     "Are you going to tell him, or shall I?" Voldemort smiled.

     "You can do it. I’m afraid that I’m not completely up to date with current laws, even if I’ve been studying everything since I got back. If you want, you can attach it to the bottom of my part." Voldemort scratched out his short message, then put down the quill and parchment. Severus summoned the writing materials and added on his significantly longer block of spiky script. Voldemort whistled, and Neptune glided down and preened his hair for a few moments as he tied the letter on his leg. Then he shot into the air and sped out the open window.

     "Well, he seemed eager," Severus stated, staring at where the owl had practically torn a hole through the sound barrier.

     "He probably is, given that he appears to want to mate with Potter's owl." Severus snorted. Of course. The entire world seemed to revolve around relationships. He was _quite_ glad to be the exception.


	8. Relapse

_It was a warm evening, by far the best weather all summer_ , Harry reflected. So with a stretch, he abandoned his bedroom with the intentions of going on a walk. He only needed to avoid being seen on the way out so he wasn't wrangled to 'be useful'...he tiptoed down the stairs and passed the sitting room with Dudley in residence, and the kitchen where Aunt Petunia was slaving away over a humungous pork roast, rubbing the seasoning into its skin. His mouth watered at the savory fragrance, bringing back semi-sweet memories and dreams of past Hogwarts feasts and anticipation for future ones. He smiled wanly, and headed on, crossing the open door of the sitting room where Dudley was gaping at the telly. Meh, just some American superhero station with a teen jumping about in a spandex suit. If anything, he was surprised Dudley was interested in that sort of thing; crawling up walls and flying seemed way too similar to magic.

     He was glad he now had contact with a surprisingly reliable source of information, and no longer had to utilize increasingly ridiculous hiding places to listen in to the news. Because, if Voldemort said he wasn't doing anything, he likely really wasn't doing anything. After all, if he was one to go on insanely long spiels all about himself and his failures, then he'd definitely gloat if he'd actually succeeded in something. Good Merlin, he spent twenty minutes talking about his past for crying out loud, to the enemy he'd made it quite clear to that he intended to kill not long after! He made it to the door, and successfully slipped out, shutting it silently behind him. He turned, about to take a step—and froze. Uncle Vernon stared right back, his face beginning to grow dangerously red.

     "Well? Are you going to move or _not_?" He growled.

     "Er, right!" Harry practically dove off the step, and Uncle Vernon snorted, and entered the house, shutting the door firmly behind him. Harry sighed, brushing himself off, and started wandering aimlessly. Twenty minutes of circles brought him to the park, and he deposited himself on the highest part of the playground, climbing the outer structure to sit on the roof of the highest turret. And from there, he could see a lot, and they didn't see him. Not many people ever bothered to look up, it seemed. There was a woman sitting under a tree reading, from Wisteria Walk if he wasn't mistaken. Mrs. Figg was conversing with an elderly man from number six, their next door neighbors. Hadn't the two tried to start up a cat club, only to discover they were the only two people within a twenty-mile radius that owned one? But regardless of their bonding love of cats, Harry felt annoyance creep into him. She was probably there, watching his every move from the corner of her eye. There were a few small children being gathered up by a plump woman, and his heart panged as they all skipped around her, vying for her hands and attention. The sunset was beautiful as well. All flaming reds and blazing yellows; rather reminded him of Fawkes. And speaking of Fawkes, there appeared to be a dark shape in the sky, making a beeline for him. His eyes widened as he realized that the owl seemed not to be slowing down, and he ducked, bracing himself for impact. However, there was only a _whoosh_ , and slowly, Harry looked up from his arms. The owl had swooped up at the very last moment, causing his hair to blow in its slipstream. Clever owl; it had found a way to remove the letter on its own. But what else should he have expected, from Voldemort's personal mail carrier? The owl flew away just as fast, if not faster than it had arrived. Harry smiled at the scroll of parchment dyed fiery shades from the sky, and slit it open. However, his mouth soon drooped with slight disappointment as he read it.

 

 _Harry, it bodes well that you are finally thinking ahead! I had begun to believe you had suffered brain damage from my Avada Kedavra, the way you always recklessly stood against me (and without a plan). However, the questions you ask are for once not of my expertise. I have never had to worry about defamation (or following the law really) in my past, so have never looked into it. Not to mention, there have been far too many laws in the last fourteen years regarding restrictions for werewolves and the like passed, and it's hard to get up to times now that I'm actually interested. However, Severus is more than willing to tell you all he knows._ _  
_Your friend, David_ _

 

     Harry sighed, as the handwriting changed from then on into a familiar spiky script he usually saw on his potions homework. Huh. It looked odd written in black rather than red.

 

_Potter, as I expect you already know who this portion is from, I’ll skip the introductions. Due to David’s penchant to break the law more often than study it, I feel it my responsibility as a law-abiding citizen to inform you in his stead. First of all, the British sect of the wizarding world does not have as many restrictions regarding the press as the muggle world does, for many of the restrictions in muggle England came about as a result of Princess Diana of Wales crashing, trying to get away from paparazzi, and then they blocking up the emergency workers. Of course, wizards didn’t give a damn for muggle Princess Diana, and so the nearly unrestricted press still runs rampant in our world. Naturally, this means there are precious few laws regarding suing. The main case of suing involves information that would cause misconceptions for a long time, such as being proclaimed a muggle or a squib when they are not, and recently, being called a death eater when they are not. Your godfather can sue the Prophet for this, should he ever manage to prove himself innocent. On the other hand, there are other laws, such as the unregistered animagus form I saw in your mind. And speaking of minds, you will find it necessary to learn to shield it if you don't want the headmaster leaching your secrets._

_Prof. S. Snape_

 

     Harry frowned at his paper in puzzlement. What did Snape mean, shielding his mind? And how the bloody hell did he see inside his mind in the first place, much less when they hadn’t been anywhere near each other? And why would Snape bother mentioning the animagus transformation at all? He’d made an agreement with Skeeter last month...oh! That agreement had only been for a year. Keep the quill silent for a year. If she didn't, then he’d tell. Perhaps he could give her something too tempting, or to tell anyways through an anonymous source. Or just wait it out if his honor was more important, and tell then. But that would only solve one journalist. He folded up the parchment and stuck it inside his jacket. Then he slid to the edge of the turret, took a firm hold of its ledge, and flipped over it, swinging inside the tower backward. From there, he slid down the tube slide and began heading home.

     However, part way there, Harry rounded a corner and ran directly into someone. The other boy stumbled, but Harry fell to the ground.

     "Here." The hand came out of nowhere. Harry looked up, and saw it was a tall dark-haired boy wearing a yellow shirt. Harry gladly took it, and grinned sheepishly at the teen once he was on his feet.

     "Er, sor-" And suddenly without warning, a different face was superimposed over the boy’s, and Harry gasped, his easy grin slipping off his face like butter, feeling for all the world that he'd been punched in the gut. And he’d thought he'd gotten over Cedric a little; it felt like the wound had just been freshly stabbed, and the knife had been twisted in its fleshy sheath. He felt a hot tightness form in his chest, and he began running away, leaving a befuddled teenager behind.

     Harry sprinted the rest of the way to number four, attempting to outrace the painful feeling inside of him, that seemed to want to stay firmly attached no matter how much he tried to lose it. He stepped inside, and pretended not to hear his relatives eating in the dining room. The smell of the feast wafting out of the cracked door only made him nauseous now. He trudged up the stairs, out of breath from his exertion. Once he was in his room, he tiredly flopped onto his bed face down, and unbidden, tears readily flowed, and for the first time in a long while, he truly cried. He cried for Cedric, and his parents, and the unfairness that they had to die for just being there, and the horror of the night of the third task, however much of a sort-of truce he had with their killer. What in Merlin’s name was he thinking, keeping up a correspondence with someone like that? Did that also make him like their killer? Guilty by association, tainted by choice? Tears flowed down his cheeks, as he gasped, trying to gain enough air between the sobs to breathe.

     Several hours or several minutes passed before he finally managed to pull himself together, and he looked up at Hedwig. She and Voldemort's owl were sharing a roost, sleeping on each other. He smiled wanly. Certainly there was death in life, but that was a natural part of it. Life still went on; love apparently still happened, after all. He could get past the survivor’s guilt on his own, it would just take time. And no, just because he was owling the bloody Dark Lord for intelligence, it did not make him tainted and a murderer; it merely made him informed. And he still had Sirius… his chest tightened in what he immediately recognized as guilt. What would Sirius think of him right now?

 _ He_ _hasn’t given you any information,_ the Slytherin side of his thoughts as well as his conscience supplied. _This is the beginning of a war; what did he expect you to do?_

     'Not this!' He frowned. Ah well, that side of him was quite right, and he was a little disconcerted by the tiny twinge of bitterness in his stomach as he reluctantly admitted that to himself. He supposed he’d just have to keep his correspondence a secret until he knew he could trust him. Information came first; he couldn’t cope in a situation where he didn’t know what was going on. That was a fundamental truth that he’d known long before he'd learned of his Godfather.

     He sighed, and swiped his sleeve over his face, suddenly ravenous. He'd go down and see if there were any leftovers (not too likely), and then he had a letter or two to write.

* * *

     Voldemort smirked knowingly as Neptune flew back into his study.

     "It took you long enough, didn't it?" His only response was a rather sharp peck to the top of his head, and to drop two letters. Confused, Voldemort scooped them both up and checked the names. David, Snape. Ah, that figured. He set Severus’ to the side, and unsealed his own. He no longer had to fear curses or other nasty surprises coming through his mail, his new wards saw to that.

 

_David, I’ve had the greatest idea, thanks to Snape; although, don’t tell him I found his lesson useful. I now know how to get rid of Skeeter and other pesky journalists in extension for good! My idea involves Skeeter, and planning for her to receive a letter with false information about me. She will be so curious, she will come to check it out, and she will likely jump to conclusions again. Naturally, it will have to be something so ‘juicy’, she can’t resist breaking her oath. Of course, I’m not sure yet what I’ll present to her, but it'll have to be something either extremely damaging to me, or to someone else magical and still involving me._

_Moving on, Snape mentioned something about shielding my mind before Dumbledore learned about this correspondence. What is that? I’ve never heard of it before (which in hindsight is not all that surprising)._

_One more question: did you really have to kill Cedric? Is there by any chance a reason he had to be killed aside from the fact that he was just there?_

_Harry_

 

     Voldemort huffed. Of _course_ there was a reason the Diggory boy was killed! He could have sworn he'd said so himself during the night of the third task. Ah well. Telling the idiot boy a second time couldn't hurt. Neptune hooted and pecked the top of his head again, and Voldemort hissed in pain. He was about to pass Neptune an owl treat when he heard the sound of barely audible footsteps (really, the only reason he even heard them was because his wards both amplified the sound of anyone approaching and notified him of their arrival), and a moment later, Severus stepped inside.

     "Severus, just the man I wanted to see. Harry sent you a letter." Severus picked up the letter between two fingers, and after extensive checking later, he finally opened it, instantly beginning to scowl. Neptune pecked at Voldemort’s head again. "Ah! Bloody bird, I’m sorry I ever picked the one with the sharpest beak. Here, have your treat!" He growled, and tossed it out the window. Neptune dove out the window, to reappear several feet away, gaining altitude with a gummy worm held in his beak. "Should have listened to the shopkeeper," he grumbled. Voldemort looked back to his guest and nearly snorted. Severus looked as if he was attempting to glare a hole through the letter. Then he growled, and ripped the paper up and threw it in the rubbish bin.

     " _Fine_ ," he spat. "See if _I_ try to give you information in the future." Severus pulled a large vial of healing potion from his pocket and slammed it on the table, then stalked agitatedly out of the room. And when he listened closely, he heard his low voice, then the sound of the floo activating. Damn. He’d meant to question him about broaching the topic of Occlumency. Not to chew him out, of course. It was a very prudent action to take, but would require an instructor, one they likely didn’t have. Doubtless Harry would want to keep him out of his head, and the same most certainly went for Severus. And now curious, Voldemort summoned the letter, repaired it, and had to keep himself from laughing.

 

_Snape, when I send mail to David, I expect answers from him! No offense, but your phrasings are positively dull and dry in comparison to his. No wonder nearly everyone fails your class! And while I'm on the topic of your speeches, your letter was almost useless! At least tell me what the bloody hell I’m supposed to do to protect my mind instead of just telling me to do it!_

                    Not _yours, Harry Potter_


	9. Visitation Rights

_Harry, as you had queried, there are multiple reasons I killed Cedric Diggory on the night of the third task. First of all, there were supposed to be no witnesses. He was not supposed to have come on that portkey, and yet he did. Now, don’t start blaming yourself; there was more than one reason. There is another, which also takes into account why I did not have my followers arrive before the ritual; some rituals are very volatile and require there to be only the human presences that are necessary. This is one of the more finicky of them, and had he been left alive, then the entire graveyard would have made for an explosion akin to a bomb. And yes, I know what a bomb is, I can already see your incredulous face._

     Harry paused, only just realizing that he did indeed have an incredulous look on his face. How _did_ Voldemort know about bombs?

_Had his death not been absolutely necessary Harry, it would be almost guaranteed that I would have left him alive. Even in my more insane state, I would have valued him; he was a pureblood, no? Fortunately, I am saner now._

_As for what you said about shielding your mind, it is called Occlumency. And now that it is mentioned, I feel like hitting my head on the desk in frustration that I did not think of that necessity at all. As Severus would likely say, Occlumency is the ability to protect your mind from external penetration. In short, making shields to keep people from digging around and seeing your secrets. This is difficult to master, and unfortunately for you, requires a teacher. This teacher would see things in your mind along the way. Now, I know of only two who are capable of teaching this to you, and I doubt you would want either knowing your secrets: Severus, and myself. In all honesty, Severus would likely be the better teacher, but I understand completely if you’d rather forego the entire option altogether._

_Your acquaintance, David_

     Harry’s nose wrinkled in disgust. This Occlumency thing was necessary, he could already tell. But his options! Would he rather have Snape digging through his head, or Voldemort? The choice startled even him.

* * *

  _David, Occlumency is obviously important. You and Snape both seem to agree on that point, and to an extent, so do I. I am surprised by myself, but I would rather have you than Snape digging through my head and seeing my memories. At least you have never ridiculed me or judged me by my parents. Well, except for that prophecy thing. You would probably refuse, though, and I don’t trust you not to just up and kill me were I to agree. You see, you kind of have a murdering thing going on, and I’d rather not become the next on your list. And how do you know about bombs?_

_Your friend, Harry_

_P.S. what is your owl’s name? I need something to draw his attention when he is preening Hedwig._

     Voldemort rolled his eyes, then called over his parchment and ink.

_Harry, I completely forgot that you don’t know about another ritual I undertook with Severus earlier this summer. In short, I am no longer insane, nor bloodthirsty (or ugly and old). I think I actually look quite nice, as does Severus. But in regards to Occlumency, I will gladly teach you, and I know of several oaths I can take to assure you that I will not kill you in the meantime. This attached rope is a portkey, which will activate tomorrow evening at seven, should you wish to come. I swear on my wand that I will not hurt you while you are there (this means that should I break this oath, my wand will break). As for the bombs, I grew up in a muggle orphanage during World War Two. The blitz was not fun to live through, I tell you._

_David_

     There. That should tie things up nicely. He’d have to make sure that there were no death eaters on the grounds, although he supposed Severus would be fine should he be around. Nagini would also have to be made aware of his arrival, in the case that she thought he was still dinner. Then he pursed his lips, and quickly scrawled a few more words to the bottom of the page.

_P.S. his name is Neptune. And should you agree, walk up the stairs, take two lefts, and the third door on the right._

     The moment he put his quill down, Hedwig swooped down and snatched up the letter with her beak, and flew out the window. She was in a hurry.

* * *

      Harry stared at the owl named Neptune. He supposed it sort of fit, although perhaps Hades would have been better. The owl was not blue, although he was impressive. he had an aura that just seemed to say 'You're all beneath me; now feel my wrath!' Heh. Like owner like pet. He then considered the rope. It was a normal rope, except for one thing; it was rainbow-colored, and had a peace pendant hanging off of it. He snickered. Voldemort must have visited the Americas in the late 60s. It made him wonder how many hippies were muggles, and how many had actually been wizards. It would explain the number of them dying from drug overdose, at any rate.

     However, portkeys still made him shudder, even if he could now place the blame of Cedric’s death on Voldemort’s shoulders. He shook his head. Bad memories or not, this was important, possibly the most important thing he could learn this summer. Note, he did say _possibly_. Something even more important was bound to happen. Like, maybe the fact that Dumbledore was a manipulative, scheming man.

     Over the next day, Harry made and remade his mind up at least sixteen times before he lost count due to several factors, like murder, torture, capture, and the fact that it was a _portkey_. He could be captured and locked up without Voldemort suffering for it! But, Voldemort seemed genuinely inclined to actually teach him. Unlike Snape. And he _did_ need to learn it. But, the third task still haunted him to a degree, and even now it echoed in his bones, creating a deep-seated wariness of any and all portkeys.

     Ten minutes before seven, Harry shook himself and steeled his resolve. He was going to do this!

     Five minutes before seven, Harry shook his head, his hair flopping around his face, and quickly loosened the rope from around his neck where he’d tied it. He couldn’t do this! He was risking far too much on the belief that Voldemort wasn’t lying!

     Two minutes before seven, Harry doubted his doubts, and wrapped the rope around his fist. He should go. He would be safe from anything Dumbledore tried to pull on him.

     One minute before seven, Harry doubted again, and quickly tossed the rope to the other side of the room. What if Voldemort had lied about everything? This could all be a very complex trap just to kill him!

     Thirty seconds to seven, Harry reconsidered, and retied it around his wrist. Ah, what the hell; he’d go. If nothing else, it would be better than sitting around all evening doing nothing.

     Ten seconds to seven, Harry frowned. Boredom was _not_ a good excuse to essentially off himself. He began untying the bracelet, but it glowed and pulled him into a world of shadows, a hook attached to his navel. He was off!

     However, the excitement was shortly replaced by panic, and once the hook began to lessen, he began scrambling to get his feet under him. He failed; he face-planted the ground, and he gasped for breath, trying to calm down. It took longer than he was willing to admit for him to do so. Slowly, he got to his feet, and looked around. He was in a small grey room, one that had only a single door, and no windows. He approached it, and crossing his fingers, tried it. It opened with no problem at all, and he let out a relieved breath. The instructions were burned into his memory; two lefts, third door on the right. He started left, and wondered if this counted as the first left or not. Shrugging, he decided that he’d assume it was, and in the next hall, which appeared to be quite long and dusty, he tried the door. Locked. And when he knocked, nothing came, so he headed on. The next hall was even dustier, and had no doors at all. Beginning to panic again, he doubled back, and stared carefully at the door. What was he supposed to do? This was the third door, the second...oh! He hurried back through the corridor to his starting point, then headed to the right and _up the stairs_. This turn brought him into a very clean hall, and he immediately felt a little better. The third door on the right still elicited no response, so he turned the next corner, and ran directly into someone. He would have fallen, had the unknown person not grabbed his lower arms and steadied him.

     "Sorry, I-" Harry froze, and his heart immediately jumped to his throat. Oh, bloody Merlin, he was dead, he was so dead… The dark man looked momentarily startled, before abruptly letting go and stepping around him.

     "Potter," Snape nodded, and continued on his way. Harry gaped at his receding back as he continued straight across the intersection. Was that really Snape? Huh. Summer did wonders for his temperament. And his looks, apparently. He headed towards the door, and even from here he could tell this was the right one. The lacquered wood stood out from here. With every step, his heart beat harder, until he was standing in front of the door, positive that his heart was going to jump right out of his chest. He raised a hand to knock, but before he could touch the wood, the doors opened, revealing an opalescent room, and the visage of a man that literally made his mouth fall open.


	10. Tea for Two

     "Well, come in, Harry. We have several things to discuss." Numbly, Harry entered, unable to disengage his eyes from the drastically changed Lord Voldemort. He just couldn’t get past the nose. There were two seats available to choose between: a sofa, and an armchair. Voldemort had settled in a second one. After small consideration, Harry perched on the edge of the armchair, all too aware of the tension that stretched across the room.

     "So…" Harry drew out, biting the inside of his cheek, "is there a difference in how things smell now?" Thankfully, this resulted in breaking the tension rather than being cursed, and Voldemort smirked, reclining in his seat. Harry slowly settled back into his own.

     "Actually, yes. As it turns out, while the previous nose was hideous, it was far more efficient than this one. I can no longer smell guilt." Harry snorted, though a shudder did go up his spine at the reference. "Would you care for tea?" The Dark Lord then asked, his positive tone belying the distaste on his features. "That seems to be all I do lately. That, and paperwork." Harry shrugged, recalling the pile of parchment and quill he'd banished to another corner of the room when he'd walked in.

     "Sure, if it's not poisoned." Voldemort sniffed.

     "If there's one way I don't kill people anymore, it's by way of poison. That's more Severus’ style."

     "And I saw him leaving this general area," Harry pointed out. "He could have done something." Voldemort shook his head.

     "He knows I am far too paranoid for that." Voldemort waved a hand, and a dark blue tea set flew into the room. "Thank Merlin your owl broke the last set."

     "What was wrong with it?" He questioned, as the dark man waved his wand over the tea set. Once there was a flash of blue light, he watched in increasing shock as Voldemort put not one, not two, but _six_ sugar cubes into his tea.

     "It was _pink_ ," Voldemort sneered. Harry took a sip of his tea, unsweetened of course. And far too hot.

     "Why didn't you just change the color?" Voldemort grimaced.

     "I did once, but the taste made it not worth it. And between that and cursing a few more followers for their idiocy, that is just about my life right now. So how is your home life holding up? Any new developments?" Harry shrugged, blowing on his cup of tea.

     "It's getting better. I actually get healthy portions of food, now. Grudgingly." Voldemort sighed, letting his head fall back into the chair cushion.

     "And here I was hoping I could still get rid of them all." Harry straightened up.

     "Why do they have to die? I'd just gotten a small taste of what a family is supposed to be!" Voldemort frowned.

     "They're _muggles_ , Harry. Muggles with _knowledge_. I _kill_ muggles. My endgame is to permanently separate the worlds, no exceptions. I don't want any of them knowing about us!" Harry’s face fell, and he stared glumly at his tea, which had a wisp of thin froth the vague shape of an acorn. "But perhaps I might be able to make an exception for your aunt, given that she make herself useful. But I don't see why you are bothering to make an exception for her at all. Doesn't she want the two worlds separated as well?" Harry’s head shot up, but then he shook it as a new thought crossed his mind.

     "She wants them separated alright. But without making an exception for her, you'd kill her for possessing that self-same knowledge, and I don't want her _dead_. But there's no chance of her alone being useful. Aunt Petunia wouldn't agree to anything if she isn't assured that Uncle Vernon and Dudley will survive too." Voldemort sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

     "Don't you dislike them, though?"

     "Maybe _I_ do, but she cares for them and still wouldn't agree. Besides, all I have to do is manage to get them to change their tune. It shouldn't take _too_ much prodding for Dudley. But for Uncle Vernon?" Harry made a face. "I'd have to save Dudley’s life or something."

     "Perhaps we could arrange something. I've been told you can cast a Patronus." Harry blinked, then a few moments later he caught on.

     "Dementors? Maybe…I suppose between saving Dudley’s soul and Aunt Petunia, that would bring Uncle Vernon over, if not Dudley. Though," Harry's lips thinned, "Dudley will be essentially useless anyway." Neptune flew in and landed on Voldemort’s shoulder, and began to preen his hair. Voldemort made a disgruntled sound but allowed it.

     "He has a sharp beak," he explained when Harry shot him a questioning look. "I don't like being the outlet for his annoyance." Harry nodded, then brought up the next, most important, topic.

     "And the prophecy?" Voldemort straightened, and slowly lowered his cup. Neptune, feeling the change in the mood, flew off to perch on a globe.

     "Ah yes, _that_. What about it?"

     "Are we going to follow up on it? Or are we going to ignore it altogether? Personally, I'd like to follow up on it, then ignore it."

     "I'd like to know what we are missing. Dumbledore knows the entire contents, and as such, he has an advantage on us."

     "If I help in this mutual gathering of information," Harry said slowly, "can you swear not to immediately turn on me?" Voldemort tilted his head in contemplation, and after a few moments of consideration, responded.

     "If the prophecy reveals that we will have to kill each other, that is that. There is no way to ignore a prophecy, not if at least one person believes in it, and unfortunately, Dumbledore and all those he's shared it with does. I'll let you leave to go back to wherever you were, before reclaiming open season." Harry snorted before he could help it.

     "Well, that is _very_ generous of you."

     "Speaking of being generous, I may as well explain Occlumency. As I said, Severus would be a better teacher than I, but I can always try. First off, it is more important than anything else you do this summer to learn it. Not only do you need to keep Dumbledore and other various people from seeing your thoughts and memories, especially of this meeting and others, but I like my own privacy."

     "What?" He wasn't following.

     "The _dreams_ , boy!" Harry winced as a flash of pain raced through his scar, for shockingly the first time that day. Voldemort sighed, then continued, far calmer than before. "At random times, I've felt your presence in the back of my mind. Were I still insane, I likely wouldn't have noticed, but now that my mind is organized, I feel you randomly floating in when you sleep. Remember all the dreams about dark corridors with a locked door at the end?" Harry nodded. “That's _me_. I don't know how you're doing it unless it's whatever connection remains through your scar, but it needs to stop. Therefore, I will be coming to visit you at least twice a week at your house, until you either get the hang of it or we are once again enemies. I'd prefer if we _didn't_ become enemies again, but you never know what fate’s going to throw at you."

     "How are you going to get past the wards?"

     "Once you meet me at the gate and invite me in, I should be able to come up to your door anytime, so long as you aren't averse to it. And you or your aunt will have to let me in in person to get past the door." That seemed adequate. So even if Voldemort started trying to kill him again, he would still be protected.

     "Is there anything I can do, until then?"

     "Yes. Clear your mind." The Dark Lord said it as if it was self-explanatory, but Harry’s eyebrows furrowed.

     "How do you do _that_?" Voldemort sighed.

     "You go into a state of being, where you are essentially detached from everything. You are merely an observer. It takes a lot to perfect it, and often people find it easiest to just try not to think of anything at all, hence the term ‘clear your mind’. Once you do this, you are able to move on to the next step. Eventually, you can manipulate your own psyche to feel emotions when you normally wouldn't, be able to hide your thoughts from others, and other things. I believe Severus uses the first quite a lot to keep from getting soft on the students at a critical moment." Harry once again nodded, and then the grandfather clock rang five times. "It appears the latest timekeeping spell is not the one I need then," the other man sighed. "That clock doesn't ring half the time, and when it does, it's often wrong. See, it's actually 9:23. It's time for you to leave, I would believe." Harry set the long-empty teacup on the tray, stood, and stretched.

     "I suppose so," he yawned. "So, when do you intend to make an appearance? Knowing that, I think I can figure something out with Skeeter."

     "What are you going to do?" Voldemort questioned interestedly. Harry grinned.

     "Hope you don't mind, but that's a secret. Oath or no, you might kill me straight off if you knew."

     "I'm coming over the day after tomorrow, about ten in the morning. I'll mention any new developments on my side then. Hold out the portkey." Harry lifted up the peace sign rope, smirking. Voldemort rolled his eyes, to his shock. "And yes, I did visit the Americas in the 60s. They had the most _interesting_ collection of spells for controlling flames, a memento from the days of the witch-burnings." Voldemort tapped the rope. "That will send you off, right… _now_." Voldemort smirked and gave a little wave, as Harry felt the portkey activate. As he could do little else at the time, he gave Voldemort the bird with his spare hand. His last sight was Voldemort looking startled, before he was whisked away to land with a very loud thump on his floor. Something banged in the next room over.

     "BOY!" Uncle Vernon shouted. "WHAT IN THE BLAZES ARE YOU _DOING_?!!" Harry sighed. Some things just didn't change.

 


End file.
